Le Roi Soleil
by Vivien99
Summary: Louis XIV was Le Roi Soleil, the Sun King and the son of Aramis and Anne. Despite their efforts, the boy grew up to be a selfish and arrogant man. A king who would destroy France if no one stopped him. It's time for the four musketeers, les inseperables to come back together to save the country one last time. I suck at summaries, just read the story. - not working at it currently-
1. Chapter 1

Louis was an intelligent child, a quick learner. As a six year old he rode just as good as some well-trained soldiers, with eight he learned how to fence, and at the age of ten he shot for the first time. He was able to speak France, Latin and Spanish fluently, he understood English and German as well. Louis knew a lot about religion, poetry and art. He could dance and he knew how to behave in Court.  
But there were things he wasn't good at, too. Despite Anne's efforts, he never seemed to be interested in the poor Parisians. He cared for the nobility and for the palace, but never took a step into the dirty streets of the town. No one knows why he was how he was. Everyone around him tried to make sure he would be reasonable, compassionate and caring – but neither Anne nor Aramis nor Constance were able to fulfill this wish.

It was this day they feared. His 18th birthday, the day he would be the lonely ruler of France. Aramis stood by the eft side of the throne, his partly grey hair bound into a low ponytail. The blue of his uniform, as well as the golden crucifix around his neck, make him look as one of them, as a noble. But he never was and never would be. Aramis accepted the place as the First Minister in order to look after his son and Anne, to be near them and to help them whenever necessary. He never liked the intrigues, even though he became kind of good in it, too. He noticed that his charm as well as his ability in speaks helped in a position like this.

On the right side of the throne stood Anne, in one of her beautiful red dresses. She smiled, but her heart arched. She loved her son but she knew what he has become. A cruel, selfish boy who would soon rule France. She hoped to be able to talk to him, that he would hear what she had to say, but feared that it would not be like this. She watched him walk towards the throne, head held high. He smiled as the people bowed, but didn't bother them a look.

Aramis took the crown of the soft, red pillow in the hands of a servant, and placed it on the boys head. The crowd cheered – they didn't know what would happen.

The feast was long, loud and cheerful. No one suspected that the new king wouldn't be as great as hoped. No one but a few men and women, standing in a corner talking quietly. Constance turned around to make sure no one heard them, before placing a hand on Anne's shoulder. "Don't worry, everything will be fine. He will listen to us, we're his family." The king's mother nods slightly. "I hope he understands what family means just as much as we do."

 _The next morning…_

"What do you think he wants to talk about?" Aramis asks concerned, as he met d'Artagnan in front of the door. The Captain shrugs, "Don't know. We'll see." He sighs before he opens the heavy doors, allowing Aramis to enter first. The other Ministers bow before they sit down. Aramis takes his usual place at the left side of the king, while the Captain of the Musketeers stands behind him. Usually, d'Artagnan is no part of such meetings, but this time the king wished that he would be there too. Soon, Anne entered too and sitting down on the opposite of Aramis. After a few long minutes, the king finally enters, causing everyone to stand up and bow until he sits down.

"Thank you for coming," he announces as if he had done this already a hundred times. "There are a few things that need to be discussed. There are some changes that are need to be made." The Frist Minister frowns, looking over to Anne with a look as if to ask _Do you know what he means_? She shakes her head, just as confused as the others.

"First of all, the Musketeers regiment will be distraught. We don't need to pay so much money for some 'special soldiers'. The men will go to the army, which will be there for the protection of the country, Paris and the palace as well. I think the finance Minister will welcome this." Dumont nods smiling.

"My Majesty," Aramis says shocked. "Do you think this is really a good idea? The Musketeers they saved France many times, they saved your fa-" "I'm sure of this. Thank you, Minister." The king shots him a strict look. "I know that you're really fond of the Musketeers, but I think regular soldiers will be just as good as them." Aramis sighs defeated. "If that's what you wish, my Majesty."

The First Minister notices the shuffle behind him and turns around just to see d'Artagnans shocked look. The grip on his sword is painfully tight, his knuckles already turning white. He presses his lips to a thin line, trying not to say something wrong to the new king. Was this the reason he was invited? To hear that the Musketeer will be common soldiers, that everything he ever was will be gone?

"Secondly, the castle of Versaille will be expanded. It will be the new palace, as the Louvre is getting a bit rusty – don't you think? I want Versaille to be the greatest most impressive palace in the world. The people shall see that France is the richest and most succesfull country. I want that they are jealous, that they wish to be French, too. That everything they dream of is to visit us – to visit me!"

Dumont just opens his mouth to say that there is not enough money for such a project, but the king silences him by raising his hand. "It's already decided. That's all for today." With that, Louis XIV leaves.

He waits until they're alone, before d'Artagnan slams his fist onto the table. "He can't do that! The musketeers are the best and loyalist men France has to offer. They not only saved his father, and the Queen many times but also always made sure he was safe! Without us he would have been killed as a child! He can't –" "Unfortunately he can, mon ami." Aramis lays a hand on his brothers shoulder, squeezing gently. "I will talk to him later this day. Maybe I can get him to change his mind. I'm sorry, d'Artagnan."

By now, Anne has recovered from the shock and stands beside the First Minister. "What have we done wrong? We always showed him how important love and humanity is. We made sure he would understand the worth of his folk, that he would be grateful for what he has. But instead he dishonors the Musketeers and wants to build the greatest palace of the world. He knows that we're don't have that much money, he knows that the people of France are starving!" Aramis wraps his arms around the woman, closing his eyes. "I don't know. But we will find a way. We will make sure that France will be fine and save, as we always did."

TBC.


	2. Chapter 2

It's not that late, but the sun had set already a few hours ago as it always did in winter. Aramis sighs, before he knocks on the kings' doors. After a few long seconds a servants opens them, allowing him to enter. Aramis doesn't bother him a second look, doesn't care if he bows or not in front of his Minister, as he walks straight towards his son. A few feet away he bows slightly, barely lowering his head. "What is it you want to talk about, Minister d'Herblay?" The king turns toward the window, watching the people walk through his gardens.

"My Majesty, would you allow me to speak freely?" "You do it anyways, Aramis." Louis looks over to his servants, commanding them out of the room. "Why is it that you want to get rid of the Musketeers so eagerly, Sire? They always served you well, many men let their life in order to save yours. And common soldiers won't be able to protect you as good as the Musketeers." Aramis thoughts drift off to Treville, who died so willingly for the young Louis, for his son. Treville, who formed the Musketeer, who was their Captain even as he wasn't anymore. He never told Louis about what had happened, as the boy seemed to have forgotten. He never wanted that the boy feels guilty, but maybe that would have been better

"Do you doubt my decisions, Minister?" Aramis sighs, rubbing his neck. "I just suggest that you maybe wait a little bit longer – think about it one more time. I still don't see the reason behind all of this, maybe you could help me understand, Sire?"

"I just don't see any sense in these 'special soldiers'. They can be just as good when they're paid like common soldiers or do you think they're just so good because they earn more money? We need the money." "Then just shorten their wage, Sire. But don't take away their honor."

The boy looks at Aramis, eyeing his uniform, face and weapons. The Minister notices how his eyes wander from one point to another, as the boy thinks about what he had said. Hope fills him, hope that the king just hadn't thought about this and would listen.

"They just feel just as honored when they serve the king as soldiers." "Louis, you're taking away everything they are!" Aramis bits his lip the moment he sees the fury in the kings eyes. "Just because you're in the Council since fourteen years doesn't mean you can speak to your king like this, Minister! You're dismissed."

Aramis bows low, before he hurries out of the room before he says more things he shouldn't say. Just before he enters his own quarters, a servant calls out for him. "Minister d'Herblay! The king wanted me to give you that. He said you forgot it in his rooms. He said you wanted to deliver it." Aramis looks at the letter in his hands concerned, not even noticing that the servant has left. 

It's sealed by the king himself. He rips the paper open, his eyes running over the words.

 _D'artagnan, Captain of the Musketeers_

 _With this, every Musketeer from your regiment is ordered to report in the infantry on Friday morning. You're dismissed from your rank as the Captain of the Musketeers by Friday and will also report to the infantry as a soldier._

 _Louis XIV_

He can't do this, he can't. Aramis thinks as he reads over the lines again and again. He can't deliver this letter to his brother. But he has to. Aramis folds it and puts it in the pocket of his jacket, before he leaves the palace. He takes the reigns of a horse out of the hands of a surprised stable boy before he rides away, not caring about any guards that should be with him.

"Who's that?" D'Artagnan shouts from his balcony, as the sound of hooves echoes through the garrison. "The Minister!" One of his musketeers shouts back before he bows, as Aramis rides through the gates. He ignores the helping hands and jumps from his horse, running up the stairs to his brother. D'Artagnan eyes him worrying, knowing that it couldn't mean any good when Aramis behaves like that. Aramis just holds out the letter. "I'm sorry, I talked to him again but he just didn't want to listen." The Minister watches how d'Artagnans shoulders sink as he reads the letters, which he lets fall to the ground.

D'Artagnan doesn't seem to even notice Aramis' excuses, as his gaze wanders over the garrison. "You think we need to leave this?"

Aramis nods slightly, watching the musketeers gathering in the court. "I can tell it them." He offers but the younger man shakes his head. "No, I'm their Captain, I will do it." D'Artagnan straightens, commending the musketeers to listen. He feels the reassuring of his brother by his side. He looks down to his man, then his eyes find Constance looking just as curious as the soldiers around her. He focus on her face, as he tells them what's written in the letter. He notices how Constance's face darkens, how she clenches her fists and then runs up the stairs. "And you let that happen, Aramis?!" She slaps him.

Aramis rubs his cheek, sighing. "I tried to talk to him, I really did, Constance. Please, I'm sorry. I'm just as dejected as you all are." The woman nods, mumbling an excuse, her anger had taken hold of her.

"I will pack our things, then." The Minister watches how she walks into the Captains rooms, slamming the door behind her. Some Musketeers are still standing in the court talking, looking at d'Artagnan shocked and others are already in their rooms as Constance.

"I can't believe he dishonors Treville like that. The man that gave his life for his. The Musketeers were his legacy and the king destroys them. I can't believe he's doing this to us! These men aren't common soldiers, these men are Musketeers and this –" he waves his arms around, pointing at the building surrounding them "is their home! He not only takes away our rank and our honor but our home, too!" "I'm so sorry, mon ami. I wish I could do anything." "You're always sorry, Aramis. Maybe you should start acting, instead of speaking. Then you wouldn't need to apologies so often." D'artagnan hisses before he follows Constance's example.

Aramis walks down the stairs with heavy legs and doesn't dare to look in the eyes of one of the musketeers around him. He just mounts up and leaves them as he can't do anything for them.

A few minutes the Minister had left the garrison, another man rides into the court. Noticing the angry and sad faces of musketeers, he knows that they already know. He's kind of happy to not be the one who has to deliver this horrible message, still his heart arches. "General du Vallon!" The stable boy exclaims as he takes the reigns of his horse. "Where is the Captain?" Porthos asks rough and nods his thanks as the stable boy points at the office.

Without knocking, Porthos enters. He watches how Constance throws things into bags and boxes, while d'Artagnan just stares at his pauldron until the Gascon finally notices him. "Porthos." D'artagnan stands up hastily and greets his friend with a short hug. "I see you've already heard," the General states. "A letter was sent to me to inform me that the musketeers will be in my regiment soon." D'Artagnan nods slightly, smiling sadly. "At least we will be reunited, right?"

"That's just wrong," Porthos huffs, sitting down on the chair by the table. "The Musketeers – common soldiers," the tall man shakes his head in disbelief. "This is ridiculous. And you dismissed from your rank. Does the king have any reason to be angry with you?" D'Artagnan shrugs. "Don't think. On the other hand he doesn't seem to like anyone."

"Haven't seen him in ages. Is he that bad?" Porthos thanks Constance, as she brings the men some wine before she also takes a seat. "I don't like talking about our king like this, but … yes he is. He's worse than his father. His father was at least kind – maybe not very bright, but he had a heart. But this boy – oh god he is even more stubborn than Aramis and so selfish."

"Will be weird to give you commands, whelp." D'Artagnan laughs. "C'mon, don't lie. You will love it." "And I will enjoy every second of it." Porthos lays his head back in his neck as he laughs, but turns serious again soon. "It's still not right. Neither you nor your men belong in the infantry."

 _Friday…_

The former Captain of the musketeers watches how his men line up in the court of the infantry's garrison. Each one still wore their pauldron, too stubborn and proud to just take it off. Just as he. D'Artagnan smiles sadly, as he takes his place beside one of his men. As General du Vallon comes out of the building, the former musketeers straighten. The colossus smiles standing in front of them. "Welcome in our humble garrison. I've heard what had happened and want you to know that I never wanted any of this. As some of you may know, I was – still am – a Musketeer and won't allow anyone to dishonor you. My soldiers will greet you with open arms or otherwise they will be punished. But I expect you to be just as kind as them. I don't want any hate between my men. We're still here out of the same reasons- to protect our country, the king and the ones we love – right? " His gaze wonders over the many faces to the pauldrons. Porthos decides to not force them to take them off yet, but sometime they will have to – the king won't be amused to find out the Musketeers still identify as them. "Go in, my men will show you your rooms. I expect you back by noon to get your orders for the day. Dismissed."

D'Artagnan follows the other musketeers instead of greeting his friend. It wouldn't do any good if Porthos is seen being friends with a common soldier. Even though many men already know about the bond they share, it doesn't need to be shown too openly. Porthos shall still be respected by the soldiers. The Gascon sighs as he walks into his room, noticing that it's much smaller than the ones in the garrison. Porthos had promised that Constance would get an own room next to his, as long as she worked in the kitchens or helped somewhere else. By noon, the former Captain finds himself back in the Court waiting to get orders from his brother.

Porthos commands some men to practice, others to patrol in the city and some to the palace. He makes sure that the musketeers and soldiers are well mixed, in order to get to know each other. D'Artagnan stationed in the palace with Brujon, one of the musketeers, and two soldiers Morel and Girard. Morel is one of the oldest soldiers in the regiment, his grey hair and many scars showing off his age, while Girard was even younger than Brujon, in the infantry just for a year.

As Aramis walks towards the Queens quarters he recognizes the family figure standing in front of her door. Seeing d'Artagnan standing guard shatters his heart. The boy had come so far and now he is back to the beginning. He was made for greater work. "I slap you if you bow," Aramis says as the Gascon is about to lower his head. A weak smile forms on the former Captains lips. The Minister ignores the other men, eyeing his brother with sad eyes. "I'm sure you will work your way up soon, mon ami." D'Artagnan nods, his anger from yesterday forgotten. Aramis wasn't the one to blame.

The Minister shoots him and Brujon another excusing gaze before he disappears in the other room. Anne was already waiting for him and had sent her Ladies in waiting out a few minutes ago. They are finally alone.

Aramis doesn't bow, but places a gentle kiss on her hand before he does the same on her lips. "How are you, mi amor?" The queen wraps her arms around the man, looking in his brown eyes as if she had never seen them before. "Estoy preocupado." ( _I'm worried_ ) "Me too, Anne." Aramis pushes a strand of hair behind her eye. He doesn't quite remember when they started to speak Spanish when they were alone, but somehow it became a comforting habit. It is the language from her native country, making her feel home. And it is the language of his mother, making him feel safe and sound.

"We should try to talk to him the following days. Maybe he listens. He's still your _hijo_ , and hopefully he will listen to his mother." Anne places a hand on his cheek, stroking it lovingly. "Èl es nuestro hijo, mi amante." ( _He is our son, my Darling.)_ Aramis closes his eyes for a few seconds, taking comfort in the gentle touch of the woman he loves so deeply. He doesn't tell her how much he wishes to say that to Louis, to call him _hijo_. How much his heart wanted to hear _papa_ out of the boys mouth. He doesn't need to. Anne knows that since years, and she never stopped to feel sorry for her lover. It's already hard for her to not show her love towards Aramis in public, but to not call her own son hers… she can't imagine it. A lot of weight – as cruel as it sounds – had at least been lifted from their shoulders, as Louis died. They waited a few more years, until it was accepted that the Queen regent would have a new man by her side. That it was the First Minister wasn't a surprise for the most, as both of them shared a lot of time with each other. Still, they weren't allowed to marry as long as Louis XIV didn't allow it – and he would never, Anne fears. Louis never had said something against their relationship, still he doesn't seem to be pleased by it. And a marriage would mean they could get children together, and as selfish Louis is he doesn't want more people in the palace to steal the attention.

TBC.

 ** _Thank you for your reviews._**


	3. Chapter 3

_A few days later…_

He takes in the sweet scent of her perfume, as he places gentle kisses along her neck – careful to not mark her. Her blonde hair tickles against his cheek in a good kind of way, while she paints invisible circle onto his chest. "Aramis," the woman says, a small smile on her lips but worry in her beautiful eyes. "Hm?" The man parts from her neck to look into her perfect face. He frowns, noticing the worry. "How long will we go on with this? How long are we going to pretend be nothing more than friends?" The Minister sighs, pushing some of his shoulder long hair back. "We've talked about this so many times, Anne." He lays down flat staring at the ceiling – golden ornaments shining down at him. The Queen pushes herself up onto one elbow, looking at the beautiful soldier. "We should finally ask him. Maybe he will grant his mother some luck. If Louis allows it, we can marry, get children and just be happy – and all of this without anyone talking bad about us."

"He won't allow it, you know this." Aramis gets frustrated, shaking his head. "He maybe knows about our – affair and doesn't forbid it but he wouldn't allow us to marry – to get children. That's not how the boy works. He wants the attention for himself, he doesn't want to share his mother."

"We should at least try it! We never even asked him!" Anne stands up angry. She puts on a light coat to cover her most intimate parts and steps to the window. The former musketeers know this behavior just too well, slowly lifting from the bed he steps closer to the woman he loves. "Don't be angry with me, Anne." He doesn't care about throwing something over and just steps right behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"You know how much I would love to finally take you to my wife. Oh how much would I love to have a child with you," at this, he slowly strokes her belly. Anne, her face still a mask of worry and fury, turn her head slightly to look in the brown eyes of her lover. "We already have a son, Aramis. Don't act like we don't."

He shakes his head. No. "He's your son, Anne. The son of Anne of Austria and Louis XIII. The rightful heir and king of France. He never was supposed to be mine and he never will be. I'm his Minister, nothing more." He puts a gentle kiss on her lips, as she opens her mouth to say something against him, but Aramis interrupts the Queen. "And I've learned to live with it. I've accepted it. I can't do anything against it anyways. Don't tell me he's my son. Just stay with the lie we're living since the beginning, I couldn't endure to hear the words from your mouth. I don't want to hear that he's actually mine, that the love I feel for him is right. No, it's wrong and I shouldn't be allowed to feel like it. I'm not allowed to think anything other than that he's Louis son, so don't make me think it. Please." His voice gets quieter with every sentence, at the end he lets out a heavy sigh and closes his eyes for a second. The warm touch from Anne, lets his eyes flutter open again. She smiles at him pitiful. "I'm sorry. Not for only telling you but for everything. I always forget that it has to be much harder for you than for me. I still can call him my son and I still can hold him in my arms, but you never was allowed to do it. I'm sorry, mi amor. I should have understood it earlier."

"It's not your fault. It never was."

The mother of the king turns in the strong arms and wraps her arms around Aramis' neck. "Let's ask him at Dinner this evening. Trying won't hurt, hm?" The former Musketeers still isn't happy with this, as he fears the disappointment that they will both feel but nods nevertheless. "If that's what you wish."

The hard sound of leather on stone, the ringing of metal and the deep mumbled voices let her turn around in shock. He gulps as the wooden door opens harshly and reveals a dozen soldiers. Protective, Sylvie blocks the way to the children and looks at the first soldier that comes into her view. "What is the meaning of this?" She wants to know, placing her hands on her lips.

"Are you Sylvie?" The man asks, not even caring to answer her question. The woman notices how some soldiers are already spreading in the classroom, taking some of the books and papers and looking through them. She nods slightly and remains in her spot, dedicated to let no man through to the kids. The soldier smiles a cruel smile and takes a step forward. "You're arrested. Kings orders. This school is closed, as you're teaching rebellion." Sylvie doesn't have a chance to answer, as her arm are already pulled behind her back.

"Don't you dare to touch her." Sylvie hear the scratching noise of metal against leather, as her husband enters the room slowly. His blue eyes focused on the soldiers and Sylvie, after he took a short look over the children. They seem scared but apart from that fine. "That has to be the famous Athos." The soldier laughs. "Let her go and no one is going to be hurt. Otherwise you will have to fight me to get her." He lifts his sword and also reaches for his main gauche.

The soldier in charge laughs once again, nodding at his men. "Take care of him." Soon, Athos finds himself in a fight one against four. The soldiers aren't a real challenge though. But for every man he injures another one comes from the back of the room. He feels the stinging pain of a cut on his arm and cheek, and the pounding in his head as he's being hit from one of the soldiers. After a few minutes and three injured soldiers, the fight is ended as the grip of a gun is hit against Athos head. He falls to the floor unconscious as they take his wife.

"Madame d'Artagnan! Madame d'Arta-" The child freezes in his moves and slowly lowers the hand that has been knocking against the door so hard that his knuckles are bruised. He looks up to the woman, who starts to smile as she recognizes the boy. "Michel, what are you doing here?"

"The school! They – they took Madame Sylvie and they – Athos is hurt." Tears start to form in the boy's eyes and Constance can't help but to wrap her arms around the thin body. "Who is 'they'?" She asks concerned. "Soldiers." The woman's eyes widen in shock as she glances around the court. D'Artagnan isn't there, Porthos sent him to the palace this morning. "Where is Athos now?"

"Still in the school, he was too heavy to move him!" Her heart starts to beat even fast as before, as she understands that Athos is not only hurt but unconscious – or worse. "Don't worry, I will tend to him. Thank you for coming, Michel. That was really good from you." She places a coin in the boys hand, stroking his cheek gently. "Now go home, okay?" The boy nods before running off.

Constance fights the urge to run ton Porthos and shout at him, but runs to the school. She has to look after Athos first. She is breathing heavy as she finally enters the small building and walks over to the only classroom. As fast as her heart had beaten before it stops immediately as she sees Athos' lifeless figure lying on the floor, a puddle of blood beneath his head. Madame d'Artagnan kneels down beside him and takes a look at the head wound, relieved to see that it isn't anything life threatening. "Hey Athos, you need to wake up? Do you hear me? It's me Constance, open your eyes. Can't carry you all the way." She slaps him carefully, looking for further injuries while she waits for him to wake up. Constance notices a slash across his arm and a few minor bruises and cuts. A soft moan catches her attention, as blue eyes flutter open. "Wht happn'nd?" Athos blinks a few times to clear his vision. "I fear I don't know much. You will surely be able to tell me later. First, we need to get you to the garrison. Can you walk?" Athos nods, still a bit dizzy but manages to get up with the help of Constance. Most of his weight lays on her shoulders as they stumble through the streets and Constance finds herself thankful that they moved to the infantry's garrison, for the first time in days. It's much nearer than the musketeers one, so it's no real problem to get Athos there.

After a few minutes of walking and stumbling they finally reach their destination. Constance lowers the former musketeer on the bed carefully. "I will get some things to dress the wounds and stitch up this cut. Don't move or you will regret it." "Aye, aye Captain." Athos mumbles and holds his injured arm against his chest protectively. He lets his head fall down on his chest, as the woman walks out.

As Constance rejoins him, she brings some hot water, bandages and a sewing kit with her. She tends to the cut on his arm first, before cleaning the head wound and dressing it. "How are you feeling?" She asks as she hands him a glass of wine. "Worst hangover ever," he forces a weak smile on his lips and gulps down the red liquid. "And do you remember now what happened?" He frowns and nods slightly, before he tells Constance what happened in the school a few hours ago.

"I will get Porthos." She announces and storms out of her room. At the Generals office, she knocks but enters without waiting for an answer. Porthos looks up from his papers confused as he notices the fury in the woman's eyes. "Soldiers attacked the school! They took Sylvie and hit Athos unconscious! What's the meaning of this?!" She storms over to the table, hovering over Porthos as if she was the colossus, not him. The Generals eyes jump from one spot to another, trying to figure out what's going on. "I never gave such an order. But I'm not the only one in command here. Maybe General Levefre knows something about it." Constance fury doesn't eases, but she takes a step back to allow him to stand up. "Take care of that or I'll take care of you." She hisses and runs out of the room to look after Athos. The former musketeer is already asleep as she comes back.

After the child on Madame d'Artagnans door, Constance on General du Vallons door, Porthos is the third one knocking so loud that everyone in the garrison could hear it. He couldn't care less. As General Levefre opens the door, he pushes him into to office and slams the door shut. "Did you order to attack the school?"

"It was a kings order." Levefre claims and lifts his hands in innocence, then gives Porthos a letter from his table. Porthos tenses while he reads through the lines. He can't believe the king really ordered to close the school and let Sylvie be arrested. "Bullshit," he mutters. Sylvie didn't teach rebellion. The Queen herself helped her build the school and still is a great supporter of it. And Sylvie was a great supporter of the Queen. Despite what she had done about fifteen years ago, she is now just a generous and hearty teacher to children in need. Porthos shoots the General one last angry look before he walks out. How much he wants to see after Athos now, he doesn't. He knows his friend is in good hands and he needs to get Sylvie out of the Chatelet first. It was dangerous in there, for women especially.


	4. Chapter 4

His footsteps echo through the dark corridor, announcing his arrival before his shadows are seen in the dim light of the torches. He ignores the pleads from behind the bars and the pained screams but rushes forward to the last cell. "Sylvie?" Porthos voice is full of concern, as he looks through the bars. Sylvie is sitting on the cold floor, her head resting on her knees. As she hears the familiar voice her head shots up and she stands up slowly. "Are you hurt?" The General eyes her from head to top, relieved to see no damage. "I'm fine. As fine you can be when you're arrested for something you haven't done."

"I'm sorry, Sylvie. We will do everything to get you home, I promise you that. I will make sure you're treated well until we can rescue you." The woman sighs as her shoulders slump. "Don't make promises you can't keep, mon ami. The king himself ordered this. Do you think you could just talk to him and he will see reason and let me go? 'Cause I don't."

"It won't be that easy, I know. But I will talk to Aramis, the king will listen to him. You'll see, you're out of here sooner you think." Sylvie takes a few steps forward to lean against the bars. She looks tired and exhausted. "I wish I could believe you, Porthos. But obviously you weren't in the palace for some time. Aramis hasn't the influence a First Minister should have on the king anymore. Actually no one seems to be able to reason with the King."

"We will get you out." Porthos exclaims, squeezing her hand before he walks off. As he makes his way towards the palace he starts to wonder if Sylvie was right. D'Artagnan had already told him that the King was quite an unpleasant person, but he had still hoped that Aramis would be able to talk to him. He practically raised this boy, he has to have some influence, doesn't he?

After not quite two hours of sleep, Athos wakes up. The memories of what had happened in the school float through his head, making him shot up just to feel a gentle hand on his chest. "Easy, Thos." Constance smiles warmly before she gives him a water skin. Athos gulps down some of the liquid before he throws his legs out of the bed. "What do you think you're doing there? You rest now or I'll make you sleep." Madame d'Artagnan places her hands on her hips and looks at him with a mix or fury and concern, which would make everyone obey right in the moment. But not Athos. "I have to get Sylvie home." His vision blurs and a sharp pain spreads in his head as he stands up slowly.

"And what do you think you can do? Porthos is already working on it, there's nothing you could do to help, Athos." The man shakes his head and starts buttoning up his doublet. "I can't just sit around and wait. I will go to the palace." Constance sighs at the stubbornness of the former musketeer, which reminds her so much of d'Artagnan. "Why is it that I'm always surrounded by stubborn suicidal idiots?" She mutters as she puts on her cloak.

Athos doesn't even try to make her stay, as she is just as stubborn as he himself. "I won't catch you if you fall unconscious," she warns and steps outside. Athos follows with a weak smile on his lips. His steps are still a bit shaky and his vision blurry every now and then, but despite of that and his headache he seems kind of fine.

It's in front of the palace gates where they meet d'Artagnan. After a short explanation, the Gascon asks the other soldier if he would be fine alone for a few minutes. The man nods. "That would at least explain why Porthos just stormed in without any greetings or explanations." d'Artagnan says as they walk up the stairs to Aramis' quarters, where loud voices already spread through the palace.

"I said I need to talk to the First Minister!" Porthos was about to grab the poor guards collar, as Athos reaches him and places a calming hand on his shoulder. "Punching a innocent guard won't help us, Porthos." The tall man turns around to look in the bruised face of his friend before wrapping his arms around him. "I'm sorry, Thos. I didn't know from the orders till Constance came into my office. I wanted to talk to Aramis about this, but these-" he shots an angry gaze towards the guards " _guards_ won't let me see him."

"The First Minister wished to not be disturbed if it wasn't an emergency." One of the guards explains calmly. It's Constance who takes a step forward now. She yes the men critically, before explaining. "This is-" she points at d'Artagnan, "d'Artagnan Captain of the kings musketeers, and this is General du Vallon. And I'm Constance d'Artagnan, a good friend of the Queen. We need to talk to the First Minister immediately, it IS an emergency."

The guards share a short look with another before shaking their heads in synch. "We have our orders." With that Porthos' can't hold back his rage and punches the man into the face. The guard stumbles a bit before reaching for his weapon. In the same moment Athos comes to his friends aid and knocks down the other guard.

Just a few seconds later both guards lay unconscious on the ground. Porthos is careful to not step on the body as he opens the door and hurries along the corridor, with Athos right by his side and the d'Artagnan's behind them.

The door is just pulled open as Aramis is about to button up his blue coat, as he wanted to go out and see by himself what all the noises meant. The queen let out a frightened scream and pulled the thin silk cape around her naked body.

As the men and Constance realize what they just had walked into they bow fast and turn around, careful to not take a look at the half naked queen. Anne hurries to dress and tries to make her hair look somehow properly. "What's the meaning of this?" Aramis asks, as the queen is fully dressed and the others turn around again – all as embarrassed as Anne. The First Minister seems quite angry at the sudden disturbance. "I told the guards-" "We knocked them out." Athos explains shortly, as he hasn't the patience for long arguments. They need to save Sylvie.

"The King ordered to close the school and arrest Sylvie, because she's teaching rebellion."

"He did what?!" Anne seems to have recovered from the shock, as fury takes the place of embarrassment. "The school was built with my help, it's ridiculous to think Sylvie would do such things!" Athos nods in agreement. "That's why we came. We hoped you could talk to him," his gaze wanders from the Queen to Aramis, who seems suddenly very exhausted. "I can try, but I fear he won't listen to me." "We both will try everything," Anne assures, her eyes lock with Constance's. "Would you help me with my hair?" Constance nods slightly and follows Anne out of the First Ministers quarters.

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